Habits
by bananasplit10
Summary: Meredith decides to stop bringing home guys when she's drunk. MerDer. Read and Review!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

The rain slips down the glass of Seattle Grace, the perfect drops reflecting the world. My knuckles prop up my chin as I sit curled in a plastic chair that's nailed to the floor of the waiting room of the hospital, waiting for my mother. More specifically, waiting for my mother's scrub nurse to tell me that Ellis Grey has an emergency surgery and that she won't be home for another few hours.

I'll grab a ride with one of my mother's interns, who'll give me an apologetic look as he pulls into my driveway. I'll stomp up the stairs and listen to music so loud that the neighbors will call my mother to tell her that I'm out of control.

But she won't take the call.

Then I'll heat a T.V. dinner found in the back of the freezer (the last one) and I'll write it on the list; knowing that I'll probably be the one to pick them up at the store tomorrow. I'll collapse in front of surgery tapes, like any normal, seventeen-year-old girl would do, and I'll stay there for the rest of the night, spending virtual time with my would-be mother. The phone will ring at least four times, my friends calling to ask me to some party at so-and-so's house. On the fourth call I'll pick up after two rings, telling whoever's on the other end of the line that I wouldn't miss it for the world. As soon as I've said yes they'll hang up, not bothering with the usual small talk.

The friends I have don't bother with asking why I sound so sad.

I'll grab the keys to my mother's car and open the garage door, not bothering to flick on the light. I'll spend a moment with my eyes closed on the stairs, mentally switching from broken daughter to uncontrollable party girl.

Once I get there I'll let a boy fill my plastic cup with tequila, but ditch him and head to the backyard feigning a headache. I'll let the smells of grass and rain fill my head, let them swirl through clouds of alcohol. I'll sit with my arms supporting me from behind my back, alone.

I'll be the only one who doesn't mind the rain.

After I've worked my way through three cupfuls of tequila, I'll find a guy, preferably hot, and take them home with me. I'll let him take over with drunken, awkward, movements that make me fight the urge to roll my eyes.

The next morning I won't remember.

I'll grab my clothes, hurriedly throwing them on. I'll shake whoever's on the left side of my bed.

"I'm going to go take a shower, and when I get back you won't be here," I'll say, while he cradles his head and groans. I'll disappear into the bathroom before he can form a coherent sentence, letting the water fall from the shower like it's falling outside. Letting the sounds from outside and in merge to form one pounding rhythm.

The boys always leave by the time I turn the faucet and step out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around me. I can hear their footsteps pad down the stairs quickly, sometimes quiet, sometimes deafening. My mother will still be gone, leaving the house cold, lonely, and staggeringly bare.

Ten years later I'll be on the same self-destructive path, only I'll be picking up men in bars instead of parties, knocking back tequila in shot glasses instead of plastic cups. The men will have gotten hotter, having lost the acne and grown into the awkward limbs. They'll move confidently, they'll have experience. They'll earn names like McDreamy and McSteamy, and will make me want to say something other than 'I'm going to take a shower, and when I get back you won't be here'.

I'll stumble through the words, wishing that they weren't such a habit. I'll wonder why I haven't grown up, moved on from my mother.

I'll wonder why I still care.

**AN: Let me know if I should keep going-Review!!!!**

**P.S. I won't be doing this whole teen-to-adult weird tense thing for the whole story, it's just this one chapter so don't worry. Oh, and it's supposed to be choppy, and it will hopefully flow more after this. **


	2. The Little Things

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

For eleven years I've drunk my way to happiness with Tequila, and for eleven years that worked for me. So now, while I'm hovering over a pyramid of shot glasses and a dark haired man approaches me, I do what I always do; flirt. We don't give names, I say 'I'm just a girl' and he says 'I'm just a guy' and then I take him home, because I have my first day at work tomorrow and I need a distraction.

It didn't seem like much, taking a stranger home from a bar; but somewhere in between stepping out of the cab and fumbling with the buttons on his blood red shirt, the habit turned into something different, something more. I couldn't explain it, just like I couldn't explain why I was doing my internship in Seattle, or why my hair refuses to look perfect despite the amount of conditioner I use. Although, judging by the way the man's threading his fingers through it, I have nothing to worry about.

What I _do_ have to worry about is that the habit turned into something different. Something that I'm definitely not used to.

I can't afford to have a boyfriend on the eve of my internship, even if he's looking incredibly hot right now. Or, at least that's what I'm telling myself.

I push away the word; the word floating dangerously in the back of my mind. Boyfriend. I bite down hard on his lower lip, escalating things physically so that I won't have to deal with the emotional. It shouldn't even _be_ emotional, I shouldn't even be thinking that word. This guy's half-drunk and probably won't remember one minute of this in the morning, so what am I so freaked out about?

--

He looks shocked to see me at the hospital the next morning, but there's no way he's as shocked as I am. He even looks a little bit happy, something that I'm definitely not feeling. It's not exactly on my top list of priorities to find out the guy that made me think 'boyfriend' during a one-night stand is actually my boss' boss.

True, he was good at the bending thing…

I back up, throwing open the door and stepping through. My day just got ten times worse as the reality begins to set in halfway down the hall by the nurse's station.

My boss is Derek Shepard, and Derek Shepard is the man in the blood red shirt.

--

It doesn't happen automatically; finding out that you want to know someone more. It happens gradually, the little things building and building until suddenly you aren't thinking of your career or who you are, you're thinking of that other person. The way he looks at you, when he thinks you're not looking at him. The way he flirts constantly in the elevator. The annoying way his hair is always perfect and yours isn't.

Pretty soon you can't remember why you said no in the first place.

"You know," he tells me in the stairwell, "I have a thing for ferry boats."

And suddenly, I have a thing for them, too. Suddenly, I don't feel the need to travel to Joe's every night to pick up men with names like McDreamy and McSteamy.

I start to think about him, wonder how we would keep our relationship secret from the Chief and Bailey. I start to picture myself as a girlfriend. I start to forget why Tequila felt so smooth going down my throat.

Those little things are going to shatter my immaculately constructed life.

**AN: It will not always be like this, I promise. After this, it strays from the show and won't be as choppy. Oh, and if the whole first day scene is wrong it's because I don't have the first season so I couldn't look it up…Sorry!!! **

**P.S. The chapters will start to get longer, too. **

**Review!!!!!**


	3. Blue

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

Like all of my hopes and dreams, the images of becoming a surgeon and finally gaining my mothers approval are shot to hell when the stick turns blue. I fall back against the wall in the bathroom, biting my fingernails and looking at the three boxes of tests stacked neatly on the edge of the sink, of the scattered blue dots in front of me. The sad thing is I was really starting to get over him. I was really starting to get the hang of ignoring him in the elevators. I was really starting to not think of him every minute of every day. That is, until the universe felt the need to kick me in the ass.

I have to get rid of it, I know I do, because it's inconceivable to be an intern and have a baby. God, a _baby. _I was hoping I'd never have to deal with that word.

"Meredith?" a soft voice calls, followed by a light knock on the door. It's one of my roommates, one of the two interns that I'd grudgingly allowed to move in. Izzie.

"I'm fine," I call back, still staring vacantly in front of me. Blue, blue, blue.

"No, your not. Being in the bathroom for forty five minutes without running water is not fine."

"Is George with you?" I ask, my voice wavering. I can't believe I'm actually considering letting her in. I mean, I barely know her and I'm going to admit to being pregnant? With my boss' baby?

"He's at the hospital, it's just me."

I unfold my legs, letting out a sigh and reaching up to unlock the door.

"Oh my god," she whispers, stepping over me and grabbing a pregnancy test with one hand while covering her mouth with the other, "What the hell are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I whisper back, not entirely sure why we're whispering.

"Shit."

"I could use some support, you know," I mumble.

"Right. Okay. How about this? 'Everything will work out Meredith; you'll continue you're internship and become a surgeon, or whatever'."

"It almost sounded sincere."

"What are you going to do?" She repeats.

"I don't know."

"Who's the father?"

The question shouldn't surprise me. It really shouldn't. It shouldn't because it's the question you ask, when you find out someone is pregnant and they're single.

"Just some guy I met at Joe's," I manage to choke out after an uncomfortable silence.

I _so_ wish that was true.

"Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do?" she says again, and I shrug my shoulders in answer.

"Well, first you're going to meet me before rounds so that I can do a check up."

"No!" I say, probably louder than I should have, "No," I repeat, softer, "Not necessary."

"You're going to get rid of it?"

"Yeah, I mean, what else can I do? I'm an intern Izzie, an _intern_."

"You're still meeting me before rounds."

"Izzie…"

"No. Either way- meet me before rounds."

I nod, too emotionally drained to argue.

"I'm going to the hospital."

"No, you're not."

"I can deal with this later," I say, waving her off, "I need a surgery."

--

The hospital's quiet, peaceful when I get there. I slide my purse off my arm and throw it in my locker, pulling on my scrubs with a blank expression. The locker room's deserted; everyone else's shift has already started. Pulling my hair into a messy pony tail after I've changed, I push open the door and head in the direction of the elevator. I breath a sigh of relieve when the doors start to close, grateful that I don't have to deal with McDreamy. But, before I can fully comprehend my luck, he glides through the doors, barely making it through. Of course I have to see him after I find out I'm pregnant with his baby.

After all, would I be Meredith Grey if I didn't?

"You're avoiding me," he says.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Can we not do this now?"

I give him a look before going back to watching the light jump from number to number.

He pulls the emergency stop.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just- don't want to do this right now."

He's looking at me, and I can't help flashing back to that night, with his blood red shirt and his warm hands on my waist.

"Stop looking at me."

I realize that it's pointless to keep glaring at the numbers; I realize that the emergency stop has been pulled so that it's now absolutely pointless to keep staring at them. But, for some reason, I know that if I tear my eyes away from the numbers then I'll start to look at him, and if I look at him, I won't be able to stop myself from telling him, and if I tell him…

"I'm not looking at you," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He steps in front of me, forcing my eyes on him.

"I'm pregnant," I blurt, cringing as soon as the words are hanging heavily in the air. I push the button, and we both hear the low hum and feel the lurch as we begin moving again.

The silence is deafening.

"Wha-" he starts, but the doors are opening and I'm slipping through them before he can finish the word.

**AN: I have to admit; I'm a little ashamed of using the pregnant thing…but oh well. **

**Review!!!**


	4. Hiding

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

It's been thirty three minutes and seventeen seconds since I last saw Derek. Since I last told him that I was pregnant. I'm meeting Izzie in an hour; she already paged twice to remind me.

I'm hiding, I realize that. Sitting curled on one of the cots down in the basement isn't exactly facing my fears. But really, is facing my fears really necessary right now? I mean, I have at least two weeks until I really, really have to deal with this. So I can just avoid it until then. Right? So I'm avoiding McDreamy and the Chief. Is that really so bad? Is it really so bad to procrastinate? To postpone the inevitable cut from the program?

The rain's still coming. When I was a teenager I used to love it, used to love sitting on the steps outside our house and watching the thunderstorms. Now, the rain seems like it's mocking me, telling me that I made a mistake and now I have to deal with it. Reminding me what my life is like.

All I wanted was a surgery, something to get my mind off of it, and of course, tonight's the one night that people decide to play it safe.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I don't bother to turn around. I know that Alex is chewing a banana with an open mouth, his shoulder propped up against the wall.

"I'm sleeping."

"No, I mean here- at the hospital. You're not on call."

"No, I'm not."

"So…"

"So, I'm pregnant, okay? Jesus, stop the inquiry!"

He laughs, "Seriously?"

"Seriously," I say miserably, the word muffled by my arm. I twist my head back to look at him, seeing his face remain blank as he steps towards me, as he sinks slowly onto the edge of the cot by my feet.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look like I'm okay?"

"No."

"Then I'm not okay."

"Okay. Do you…need anything?"

"McDreamy's the father."

"Who's McDreamy?"

"You don't want to know."

He scoffs, "Of course I want to know, its gossip."

"Exactly why I don't want to tell you."

"If you didn't then you wouldn't have told me his nickname is McDreamy. You know I'll find out eventually."

I turn back to the window, not bothering to answer. He has a point.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" He asks, gesturing towards the pager on my hip.

"No."

"It could be a surgery…"

"I guess," I say, reluctantly rolling off the cot and giving Alex a weak smile, "Thanks."

"No problem. But you better tell me who McDreamy is," he calls after me, his voice echoing in the hall.

The elevator's empty this time, one- hundred- percent, no joke empty. Derek's probably avoiding me now, too.

"You're late." Bailey says calmly, not looking up from the chart in front of her.

"I'm sorry I was-"

"That wasn't a question, Grey. You don't ignore pages."

I look around nervously, hoping she can't somehow sense pregnancy.

"Won't happen again."

"Good. He needs a CT and an MRI."

"Right away."

--

"He can't move his legs, Grey, we _need_ a neuro consult! No questions!"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts. Do you want to be taken off the case?"

"No."

"Then get Dr. Shepherd."

"But-"

"What did I say?"

"No buts," I mumble.

"So?"

"I'm going."

The halls are less empty now; there are more patients because of the storm. The lights are the only thing keeping me awake, the only thing that's keeping me from abandoning Bailey's order and going home.

I find him leaning against the railing, looking out into the rain with his chin resting on his crossed arms. He looks so lost, almost as lost as I feel. I take a deep breath before clearing my throat to get his attention.

"Dr. Shepherd. I need a consult on a twenty-four year old male. He's paralyzed from the waist down."

He nods, giving one last longing look to the window before turning to follow me.

"How long?"

Somehow I know he's not talking about the patient.

"I just found out this morning. It could, you know, not be yours. There was one other at the bar the other night…"

"But it might be mine," he says simply, bringing two fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You know, I'm not asking for anything. I don't need money, or anything else. I just thought you should know."

"Yeah," he says distractedly, "I'm glad you told me."

"Yeah," I echo, just as distracted.

**AN: So he knows. But he may not be the father. Or he may be…Oh, and Addison may or may not be in this story. She may stay in New York, I haven't decided yet. **


	5. Dr Shepherd

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to live happily ever after. You know, living in a cottage in a field of sunflowers with two kids and a dog and a husband with no money problems and no job. Like in the movies but without the sappy music.

Right now, I'm wishing I was there.

"Pregnant, huh?" He says, leaning against the doorway while I scan the MRI monitor.

Despite the implications of that word his face has a light smile stretched across it, gently reeling me in.

"Yep," I answer, keeping my gaze focused on the screen, "Damnit, look at this."

"It's a-"

"Brain tumor. Should I prep him for surgery Dr. Shepherd?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, moving closer and resting a hand on the back of my chair.

He's hovering.

"We're back to Dr. Shepherd? I may or may not be the father of your child and you're calling me Dr. Shepherd?"

"Can I scrub in?"

"Yes."

"Then okay…Derek."

He looks torn when I step out of the room, like he's fighting between avoiding me like the plague and sleeping with me again.

"See you later, Meredith."

"Uh, huh," I mumble, furrowing my brow and trying to figure out if I was just flirting with the head of Neuro. And if he was actually flirting back.

--

Balancing a tray in one hand pulling out my chair with the other I collapsed at the table of interns, unintentionally spilling half my apple juice.

"Shit!"

"What's got you so fidgety?" Christina asks from directly across from me, ripping apart a granola bar.

"I am _not_ fidgety."

"You so are! Is it McDreamy? Cause I saw you making eyes at him while you were filling out charts this morning."

"I was_ not_ making eyes at him!"

"You _so _were!"

"Guys, guys," George cuts in, "can we just eat? I've been doing rectals all morning and I have a major headache."

"How do you have a headache from doing rectals?"

"I just do, okay? Now can we eat?"

"Whatever, Bambi."

"Did you say McDreamy?" a voice calls from the table over.

"No!" I say, throwing a warning look to Christina which she ignores.

"You have gossip? She won't tell me anything."

"Oh, I have gossip," Alex says, patting the place next to him.

"Christina, don't you dare," I warn before turning to Alex, my voice rising, "And Alex, damnit, that was _private_!"

He shrugs, giving me a smirk and tipping back on his chair.

"It's not like you're giving me details! If you would tell me something every once and a while I wouldn't have to go to Evil Spawn," Christina protests, already halfway out of her chair.

"Don't," I plead, adopting an awful, whiny voice, "I swear I'll tell you after lunch, just not…here."

People are already whispering, pointing, gossiping. She notices, following my gaze around the cafeteria. Her eyes turn soft, something that rarely happens. She falls back into her seat, studying my face.

"Okay," she says before changing the subject abruptly to her latest surgery with Burke.

This is why I'm friends with her.

I unwrap my sandwich, carefully picking off the lettuce and tomatoes and watching my friends become absorbed with the trays in front of them. George dives his plastic spoon into vanilla yogurt, Izzie takes long gulps out of her pink thermos filled with tea; Christina abandons her granola bar for a bag of Cheetos. All of them avoid asking me direct questions, probably because they're worried I'll turn vulnerable again and use my awful, whiny voice.

So, the rest of the lunch is thrown into awkward silence after Christina stops gushing about open heart surgery, a silence that makes me want to tell them I'm pregnant just to get it to stop.

**AN: Review!!!**


	6. Last to Know

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

"He's going to find out eventually."

"Who? McDreamy or Alex?"

"Both! Alex is going to find out that McDreamy is-"

"Shh!"

"Fine. Alex is going to find out who McDreamy is and McDreamy is going to find out that he is unquestionably the father."

Christina and I are hunched over charts at the nurse's station, quietly talking. My head's inclined towards hers, waiting for the advice that doesn't come.

"Well? What should I do?" I prompt impatiently, scribbling in my patients' allergies.

"How the hell should I know?"

My jaw drops and I turn to face her, resting my elbow against the counter.

"You're not going to help me?"

"I say get rid of it but that's just me."

"No, I mean... should I tell Shepherd?"

"He might get attached, you know. Try to talk you out of it."

"Right," I say quietly, "Right."

There's a lull in the conversation while we both turn back to our charts. But I get a strange, gnawing feeling in the pit of stomach and pretty soon I'm turning towards her again.

"But he already sort-of knows it's his on some level, right?"

"I thought you told him it might be someone else's?"

"Yeah, but he's got to have at least _considered_ the possibility…right?"

She shrugs, flipping her chart closed and starting on another one.

"Probably. But he doesn't know for sure yet. You can always claim that you took a DNA test or something."

"He'll probably want the results," I say, biting my lip.

"Oh, right. Well then, I don't know. Do whatever you want."

"Christina!"

"What? I never told you I was good at this! There isn't a handbook for friends who get pregnant by their attending during their internship."

"Shh!" I breathe, one finger over my lips, "And you're not helping."

"Did I say I was trying to help?"

"Are you gossiping or filling out charts?" An authoritative voice calls from behind us. I can feel Bailey's stare, her hands on her hips.

"Filling out charts," we both answer back in unison.

"Good. Stop talking or you'll be doing scut for the rest of you're shifts."

I bring my voice down to a whisper, leaning in closer.

"What about the chief? Do you think I should tell him?"

Her fingers freeze, gripped to the pen and hovering over the paper. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

"You're considering…_keeping_ it?" She asks under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

"No! I just want to…keep my options open, you know?"

"Listen, Meredith, if I have any advice whatsoever to give you it's that having this baby will most likely get you kicked out of the program. Not to mention that the father's an _attending_!"

"I know, I know. It's just that…with this big of a decision I have to consider all angles."

"I wouldn't consider that an angle, I'd consider that career suicide."

"What did I say about talking?"

"We're working, Bailey," we call back together.

"You better be," she says, eying us suspiciously before turning away to check the board,

"Why the _hell_ did I get pulled off of Shepherd's craniotomy?"

--

I fall into bed after work, the bed that I had a one-night stand in with Derek three weeks ago. The bed that caused all the problems.

I don't bother to change clothes and I don't bother to turn off the light, I lay there; eyes closed and halfway to sleep. The fan turns lazily above my head, creating a soft whirring sound that somehow pushes away all of the pent-up frustration I've managed to accumulate lately. My hair splays over my pillow like a spider web, and my hands are folded over my stomach.

I can hear someone talking after a few minutes, and I open my eyes a little to find George waving a box at me. A very important box.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He demands, throwing it on my bedside table next to the alarm clock.

"I was going to, George," I croak, "But I wasn't going to tell you at the hospital."

"You told Christina at the hospital."

He looks so sad, I wish I could take it away.

"Right, because I don't live with Christina and she's my best friend. George, I swear I was going to tell you once you got off work."

"Izzie knows."

"Yes, because she was suspicious when I wouldn't come out of the bathroom. Look, I didn't _plan_ on telling either of them. You saw what happened at lunch, I was pressured into it."

"Alex knows."

"Yeah, that was more…me making a stupid decision and needing someone to tell."

"You could have told me," he says quietly, falling into bed beside me.

"You weren't there," I state simply, "Alex was. It had nothing to do with you."

"I hate finding things out last."

"Me too. But I bet you can give me better advice than the three of them. They kind of suck."

He laughs, brushing hair out of his eyes and shifting to look at me.

"I say…I say tell whoever the father is. Decide together."

I breathe out a sigh of relief, turning on my side and moving closer to burrow into his shoulder. Although I barely know him, it's somehow comforting.

"You're the first person to tell me exactly what I want to hear," I murmur, and I can sense his smile without looking up.

**Review, as usual!!!**


	7. Forbidden Tequila

**Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations. **

The floor's moving. I can't focus on anything but the glass in front of me, because if I look away then I'll throw up all over Joe. And, if I throw up on Joe, he'll probably stop serving me Tequila, which would be devastating. Medically, the fact that I'm pregnant and drinking this much is a very, very bad idea. But, I'm giving it up, so it shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter that I decided to stick with what I've done my whole life, shouldn't matter that I've reinstated Tequila as my best friend.

It shouldn't, but it would help if Derek hadn't just pushed through the doors, looking like he's ready to strangle somebody.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he asks, ripping the shot glass from my fingertips and holding it hostage.

Maybe it would've been better to follow George's advice.

"I'm drinking, you should remember me drunk."

His face, if possible, turns darker.

"You're _pregnant_!"

"It's okay," I slur, my head suddenly feeling overwhelmingly heavy, "I already set up an appointment."

Disappointment clouds his features. His steadily-growing-hotter features.

"Appointment?" He chokes, knocking back the shot in front of him and wincing at the burn.

"Uh huh. Did you actually think I'd be…"I trail off, forcing bile back down. Even while I'm plastered it sounds wrong, "keeping it?"

"I thought you'd talk to me about it."

He looks like he's just found out his dog's died.

"You're not even the father!" I burst, motioning for Joe to pour another. Joe glances between me and Derek, reluctantly filling another glass.

"You've had enough," Derek mumbles, reaching to take the drink from Joe, "and I haven't had nearly enough for this conversation to keep going."

"Did you expect to marry me or something?" I ask, giggling at the thought of a ring on my finger.

"No," he says stiffly back, "but I did expect to ask you out. Maybe, eventually, ask you to move in with me."

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be listening to this. I don't want to hear about how he felt the same thing during our one-night-stand, about how he was thinking 'girlfriend' while I was thinking 'boyfriend'.

"Oh."

I try to get up, try to push myself off the bar stool but everything spins out of control when I do. He reaches for my elbow, but not in time.

"She's dehydrated," someone says, holding a hand up to my forehead, "I need to get her to the hospital."

The room swallows me, throwing me into black. I can hear someone calling my name over and over, but it sounds so far away.

I feel fingertips brush my face and after that, darkness.

**AN: It's short. I know. But I had to have a cliffhanger!! So here it is. **


	8. The Patient or the Doctor?

**Disclaimer; If you haven't noticed, I've been using the same disclaimer over and over, which is boring. So, here's a new one- I wish I owned Grey's, but I don't. (I couldn't think of anything more exciting). **

**  
Anyway, here's the newest chapter…Enjoy!!!**

The room blearily comes into focus; I see the dresser in the corner of the room, the closed blinds hanging over the window. I see Derek, slumped in a chair next to the hospital bed, sleeping. My eyes shut tightly, willing away the pain that's currently attacking my throat.

"Derek," I croak, watching as his eyes flutter open, "Water."

He yawns, getting up slowly to hand me the bottle of water perched on the edge of the bedside table.

"You're going to be fine," he says vaguely, once he's more awake, "You were dehydrated. The amount of alcohol you had…"

The water slides down my throat easily.

"What about it?" I snap, giving him a glare once I've swallowed.

"Nothing. Richard's getting a consult from another hospital to check out the baby."

I nod.

"Who all knows?"

"The only people who know are the interns and the chief. I'm assuming you were the one to tell the interns because they already knew when I brought you in."

"Do they know that you're…"

"Possibly the father? No. I thought you'd want to keep that a secret so I'm here strictly professionally."

He gives a small smile, forgetting for a second that he's mad at me. His fingers reach, hesitantly entangling with mine. I smile back.

"Were you serious? Back at the bar?" he asks. I look away, pulling back my hand.

"Yes."

"What day? What time?"

"Doesn't matter."

"I want to know when it is."

"Why?"

"I want to be there."

"Not happening," I say automatically, letting out a laugh of disbelief.

"I want to be there," he repeats, giving me a look. _The_ look. The look that I'm pretty sure will make me cave more than once in the near future.

"Whatever. The Family Planning center downtown. Thursday at nine."

He nods, sitting back down.

"I can't talk you out of it?"

"No."

The word sounds so final, I almost want to go back and say yes, please, please talk me out of it because I really don't know what to do. But, the moment passes and he coughs to cover up just how awkward this is.

We shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here as the patient, I should be here as the doctor, and I shouldn't be discussing an abortion, the stick should have been pink. It _would _have been pink if the glow-in-the-dark condoms were as reliable as the regular ones.

"I understand you're decision," he says, but he doesn't look like he understands it. He looks like he did in the bar, like I just told him that his dog died.

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

He smiles again, a sad smile that isn't really a smile.

"Do you need anything else?"

He's fidgeting, running a hand through his hair and avoiding my eyes. It takes me a second to realize that he's nervous. Derek Shepard, the best neurosurgeon in the country is nervous of me, Meredith Grey, the clumsy intern he knocked up.

"Can you turn off the light and open the blinds?"

The request seems silly as soon as it's out of my mouth, but I need to see Seattle. I need to have a view that gets rid of my problems temporarily.

He opens the blinds but he falters before flipping the light switch, giving one last look at me before the spell's broken and he's backing out the door.

My head falls back against the pillow once the door clicks shut and I breathe a sigh of relief. The exchange is over, I've made it. I've convinced Derek- _Dr. Shepherd_, that I'm not having this baby, which means I'm halfway to convincing myself.

I'm indecisive on a good day, but about pregnancy? This is the rest of my life! I could either end up a surgeon or a mother, and right now, I have to choose. I have to choose where I want to be in the next ten, twenty, thirty years.

I see the chief hovering outside my room, and I watch while he starts a conversation with Derek, a conversation that turns heated fast.

Derek looks furious and the Chief looks apologetic.

I've never seen either of them so emotional before, and frankly? it kind of freaks me out.


	9. Bad News

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

**AN: Seriously, you guys are way smart. Too smart, because you guessed what the whole thing with the chief was about. Review!!!**

The next day Derek's leaning against the doorway with a Styrofoam box in one hand and a plastic fork and knife in the other. For some reason I get the impression that he's making up for something, like he's going to tell me that he robbed a bank and that the food is his bribe to keep my mouth shut. He doesn't say anything, he just sits on the edge of the hospital bed looking at me. It's unnerving, the way he's studying my face for any sign of discomfort. I shift awkwardly, pulling the blanket closer.

"Does this have to do with you talking to the Chief yesterday?" I blurt out.

"It's more than that," he says quietly, barely breaking the silence, "Meredith, the consult came from New York and she examined you while you were sleeping…"

He trails off, at a loss for words. He looks sad and uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" I croak, bracing myself for news, "Why are you looking at me like someone died?"

He pauses and I see drops glint in the corner of his eyes before he coughs awkwardly and brings a hand up to cover his face.

"Oh."

It's hard to explain how I know. It's like I knew in the bar. Like I knew that there's no way a baby could survive that, there's no way it would be healthy even if it did survive. It's like a punch in the stomach, something that I can't explain except for this awful, knotted feeling.

His expression is heartbreaking, and that's probably the main reason I collapse into tears. Long, drawn out sobs wrack my frame and he climbs up onto the bed to calm me down although he's close to breaking down, too. I have a feeling that he's already broken down alone and that he's fighting it so that he can console me.

Everything's so blurry, a dream, nightmare, that I'm drowning in.

I shouldn't be this emotional, I mean, I had the appointment set up and I was going to…

But, for some reason, none of that matters. What matters is that I miscarried because I loved Tequila more than this baby. And that kills me. It's one thing to go to a clinic, it's another to go to a bar.

"Shh," he murmurs, brushing back the hair sticking to my forehead, "Its okay."

Those two words have never been more wrong.

"It was yours," I gasp through the waterfall of tears falling violently down my face, "You were the only one I took home from Joe's, and it was yours."

He tenses, "I know."

I'm vaguely aware of the distressed moans that are tumbling out of my mouth but I have no control over them. We lay there seconds, minutes, hours, until my sobs have finally reduced to hiccups of emotion, the occasional silent tear gliding down my nose and dripping onto his sweater.

"When do I get to wake up?" I whisper, my voice scratchy with tears and my eyes closed. He doesn't answer, and for a moment I think he's asleep but then I feel his lips pressing into my hair. I sigh, letting out a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding. I burrow deeper into his arms, letting cologne and aftershave fill my nose.

"We weren't going to have it anyway," he says, like he's trying to convince himself.

"You wanted to."

"I understood that you couldn't. Plus, things were...complicated."

The tears come welling up again, just when I thought I'd run out. He wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, "I don't blame you, Meredith."

"You should."

"Maybe," he shrugs, sighing, "But I don't."

"I blame me."

He sits up, pulling away from me and running a hand through his hair.

"You shouldn't."

"But I do."

I turn away to look out the window; the blinds are still open from when Derek was here yesterday, from when I thought that I was still pregnant.

"Now that it's not going to happen, I've been going through all the possibilities of how he or she would act, if I would be a good mother, what I would name them…"

He smiles, another one of his sad smiles that's somehow not a smile.

"I've been doing that since you told me."

"Really?"

Derek Shepherd doesn't cease to amaze me.

"Yeah. We would name her Molly, Molly Shepherd, and she'd have your hair and my eyes."

I scrunch up my nose, "I'd have to marry you?"

He flushes, "No, no! Just…she'd have my last name."

"Why wouldn't she have my last name?"

It seems so pointless now, and it hurts to be here with him, talking about this baby, but I can't stop. I have to know.

"Molly Grey? It doesn't work as well."

I try to laugh but it comes out some sort of strangled cry. He lays a hand on my shoulder and it shakes with emotion. He's trying so hard to be composed, to not care.

He tenses again, and for a second I think it's me but then I see her, standing in the doorway above the slit of light falling on the floor.

"Addison," Derek grits out, giving me the same apologetic glance that the Chief was giving him yesterday. I want to pull my blanket up over my head. The overwhelming urge to hide has overtaken every other emotion because I have the same feeling creeping over me as when Derek walked in, like I'm about to hear bad news.

**AN: Don't hate me!!!!**


	10. Clarification

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

It's amazing, how fast things can change. One minute you think you know who you are and the next, you're wondering who the girl staring back at you in the mirror is. You're wondering who the dirty blonde hair and blue eyes belong to; why you're so thrown when your doctor tells you he's married. The room slipped into one of those awkward, heavy silences about a minute ago, one of those silences that seems to stretch indefinitely into the future. By now I'm almost begging for it to be broken by anyone but me, because I know that I can't say anything right now. If I say something, the words springing out of my mouth will be some uncontrollable ramble that no one will be able to understand. So I sit, glaring stubbornly at the cheap hospital blanket draped over my frame and trying to will myself away from this hospital room, trying to will myself out of this awkward, heavy silence that seems to stretch indefinitely into the future.

Surprisingly, Addison's the one to break it first, coughing and stepping forward to stand next to my bed directly across from Derek. It's strange, but while they're in front of me they look somehow…connected. Even though Derek's not wearing his ring and Addison has a guilty look splashed across her face, they look like they have a history together; a history that doesn't include me.

"We've been married eleven years," she says, staring at Derek although she's addressing me, "and then Derek decides to move to Seattle and forget about what we had."

"I didn't _forget_," he snarls, "I didn't have a choice, you made that decision for me. And technically we're not married anymore."

"It's not official yet, the lawyers are still reviewing the papers. Derek, we can still get past this…"

She reaches across the bed for Derek's hand and I slouch further down in the bed. I really, really don't want to be watching their reunion right now. I can make no claim whatsoever to Derek, and that's probably why this is so hard to watch. She has what I've always wanted, a husband (almost ex), a family, a life. True, they're fighting, and true, he just shrugged off her touch, but they'll work it out and I'll be here, struggling with a miscarriage and a not-so-innocent problem with alcohol. I'll be here, and he'll be taking her back to his place to make up for lost time.

"I can't be here," he murmurs suddenly, moving as if to brush my arm but then thinking better of it, "I'll come back later."

He gives a meaningful glance at Addison before stalking out of the room and she sighs, turning to me after he's gone and flipping open my chart.

"So, would you consider yourself an alcoholic?"

--

Derek still hasn't shown. I'm trying really hard to focus on what George is rambling about, something related to the newest gossip. Apparently there have been rumors about an inappropriate intern/attending relationship; surprise, surprise. Derek and I reached inappropriate far before the stick turned blue. Now we're cruising past 'oh my god, they didn't'.

"So the nurses are all like 'did you hear about Burke?' and-"

One name makes it through the fog of my mind and into my thoughts.

"Burke?" I croak absently, sitting up.

"Yeah," George says, his brow furrowing, "What do you know?"

"Nothing! I just thought you were talking about someone else."

"What, like Shepherd? Ha! He's married, like he'd start an affair with an intern."

I shift uncomfortably, maneuvering so that I'm facing away from him and to the window.

"So anyway, they're like 'Burke's doing one of the interns' and I'm like 'no he's not, he's to focused on the job' and they wouldn't believe me! I mean, how could they disagree with that? The man's a machine!"

"Yeah," I mumble distractedly, "a machine."

George's eyes are soft when I turn back to face him.

"I know you're upset, and if you want to talk about it…"

I force my lips to adopt a weak, wavering smile.

"I'm fine, George."

"Then why are you acting like you haven't heard a word I've said?"

"Because…because I'm so confused."

The tears come as easily as they did a couple of hours ago and again, I'm surprised that I still have tears left. They spring into the backs of eyes, and I fight to keep them back, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"One minute he's here, being all sad and understanding and amazing and the next he has a wife that I never even _knew_ about, I mean, I don't even know why he left New York and now I'm so confused because I don't know if he wants me or if he wants her and I'm worried that he won't want me because I got drunk while I was pregnant."

"Breathe," George commands, and I realize that I'd forgotten to suck air in for the last minute. I gulp down mouthfuls of air, gasping and struggling to keep from hyperventilating. It's all hitting me at once, throwing me off balance, "Shhh," he says; only it's not George anymore it's someone else, someone with a softer voice. Someone who smells like aftershave and antiseptic and who's holding a paper bag over my mouth for me to breathe into. My exhales and inhales slow into an even pattern, and my eyes flutter open gently to focus on deep blue eyes dark with worry.

"It's okay," he murmurs, although his face doesn't agree, "You're going to be okay. _We're _going to be okay."

I nod, letting the fingers clutching the paper bag loosen. I watch as the bag floats down to rest on my lap. The bed sags under his weight as he climbs into bed beside me.

"She cheated on me with my best friend," he says as soon as we're both as comfortable as we're going to be, "She cheated on me with my best friend and I drew up divorce papers, moved to Seattle, and met you in a bar."

I don't say anything, I just lay there.

"It's not enough," I say, "it's not enough to get me pregnant and then try to start something else."

"Who said I wanted to start anything?"

"You're spooning me."

"So?"

"So, friends don't spoon."

"Who said I wanted to be your friend?"

"Then you _are_ trying to start something."

"No, all the on-call rooms were taken. This is the only bed I could find."

I can hear the smirk in his voice, his mouth upturned a little at the corners. His arms tighten around my stomach, pulling me closer so that my back is pressed up against him. His head nestles in closer to rest between my head and my shoulder, fitting perfectly with my neck like a puzzle.

"That doesn't explain the spooning," I whisper, struggling again with remembering to breathe. I almost reach for the paper bag that has drifted down to the floor to help me control my air flow.

"You only have one blanket," he whispers back.

"Mmhmm," I mumble, slowly drifting towards sleep. Although right before I'm about to slip into unconsciousness a thought emerges that startles me back awake, "You didn't…you know, hear what I said when you came in…did you?"

There's an awful, clumsy pause and I hold my breath in anticipation.

"No," he says finally, his words measured carefully, "I was walking by and George was comforting you. I realized that I should have been comforting you and took his place."

"Okay."

The sleep comes easily after that, the exhaustion catching up to me quickly and finally letting me relax into Derek's arms.

**AN: So I had to make them married, because that's basically the only reason Derek would be so mad about her coming back, but people expressed concern so I made them almost-divorced. Fair compromise? **


	11. Over

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

**Sorry this took so long, FF wouldn't let me upload chapters because it was being dumb. **

He stops by all the time, so often that I begin to wonder how long it will take the rest of the interns to connect the dots and realize he is-_was_- the father. It's comforting, him leaning against the doorway of my room whenever I wake up. Or it would be comfortable, I guess, if his wife wasn't interrupting his visits routinely. Seriously, is it really necessary for her to make _that_ many check-ups 'just to see how I'm doing?'. She's an attending! She should be having an intern do them for her, right? It's not normal to have this much interest in a patient, let alone her husbands' mistress. Thankfully she's not here now, but he's not either; something about an emergency surgery in OR 2. He promised he'd be back as soon as he's done, and Izzie's keeping me company while he's gone.

"Two three's," she says, sliding two cards face down to the middle of our make-shift card table. It's not like I'm going to be eating the hospital food that came with the tray anyway.

I study her face, looking for signs of a lie. Too bad I don't know her better, this game would be a hell of a lot easier. I play it safe, laying down three cards face down of my own.

"One four," I say.

Her face splits into a wide grin, and she claps her hands excitedly.

"I was lying," she says, "Four fives."

I study her face again. She's smiling slyly, daring me to call her bluff.

"Bullshit!"

Her eyebrow curves up into a perfect arch, testing me, "Take em'!"

She squeals, clapping her hands together again and watching while I dutifully collect the pile of cards. Outside its dark, and its strangely comforting to be in here, under the fluorescent lights and playing cards with Izzie. I can forget for awhile, forget exactly why I'm here.

"How am I losing?" I complain playfully, "I _always_ win at Bullshit."

"Not an-y-more," she sing-songs and I groan, shuffling my cards together and starting to divide my hand numerically. It'll take awhile, considering I have three fourth's of the deck. "Come on, seriously, it'll take you all night to organize those cards."

"Luckily, I have all night," I tease, purposely slowing down to irk Izzie.

"Meredith Grey, we _will_ finish this game and I _will _win."

I let out a hoarse but genuine laugh, picking out my next two cards and taking my time as I lay them between us.

--

Hours later, after I've won, I'm leaning back on my throne of hospital pillows and trying to sleep. I can't sleep, can't even close my eyes before they snap back open, casting a hopeful glance towards the hallway. He said he'd stop by after the surgery, and it's pathetic but I feel like I can't fall asleep without seeing him. Without seeing that sad smile one more time. It gets later and later, so late that I wonder if I'll sleep through all of tomorrow once I've finally slipped out of consciousness. The hallways stays brightly lit, empty, save for the nurses. I play hand solitaire, cheating at the end so that I don't have any cards left at the end. For some reason I can never stop myself from cheating when I'm playing by alone.

Finally, after hours and hours of waiting, I look up and see his shadowy form leaning against the door frame, watching me.

"So you're a cheater," he greets. Apparently he's been watching me for awhile. I smile coyly, not giving him an answer.

"How are you?"

"Been better."

His face grows worried again and he steps forward cautiously, balancing between the need to comfort me and the need to give me space.

"What's wrong?"

I give him my best 'are you serious?' look and the worry morphs to pain. I know that he's been better, too. He's been better with Addison.

"Have you talked to your wife?"

He nods; a clipped, formal gesture.

"We're over."

The words are so quiet and sad and thoughtful that I want to reach out and touch his arm. He sits on the edge of my bed, not making a move to lie down. He sits there, looking quiet and sad and thoughtful while I struggle to think of something to say. Nothing seems like it'd be appropriate, I mean, what do you say to a guy you're interested in when his marriage is over? I can't feel sad and I can't offer congratulations so I stay silent, letting him process everything.

"I want to start something," he says evenly, avoiding my eyes, "But I need to get past this. You…you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me that I was the father and you didn't tell me that you wanted to get rid of it. I could have…done something. Something that would've made this better."

I nod slowly, not fully understanding his point but grateful anyway. He wants to start something.

"No more hidden pregnancies."

"Okay."

"And no more drinking yourself unconscious."

"Okay."

There's a strange, giddy feeling taking over, a giddy feeling that I want to push away because I feel like I should be crying or staring vacantly out the window. He notices my silence and lays a hesitant hand on my blanket-clad feet.

"You know, I have a thing for interns," he says, switching gears abruptly; I let the giddy feeling take over, a small half-smile working its way onto my lips.

"Interns as in plural?"

He pauses mockingly for a moment before mirroring my smile. He pushes himself all the way onto the bed and pulls me close like he did the night before.

"Just one," he whispers into my ear, the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.

**AN: So this is most definitely a filler. But I promise it'll get exciting soon. I hope. I guess that'll depend on your reviews hint hint….jk. But review anyway because it helps!!**


	12. Going Home

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

I got out this morning.

My packed bag was resting on the side of the narrow bed that Derek and I had recently claimed as our own when I took one last sweep of the room to make sure I had all my things. I had started to fill out the paper work the night before, when Addison grudgingly agreed to discharge me; I think she disliked the idea of having Derek and I out from under her influence.

"No work for a week," she had ordered, crushing my world. My life has seemed so meaningless without work, I don't think I can stand another week without pulling on a pair of scrubs. At this point I'd take an Appendectomy, doing charts, scut work; anything that involves a patient that isn't named Meredith Grey.

George drives me home, and I see his darting, nervous looks that search my face for any sign of emotion whenever the Cherokee groans to a stop. It's like he's expecting me to have a breakdown in the car, like I can't even control myself long enough to make it home. Everyone's been walking on eggshells around me and I find myself missing Derek's slow, calculating looks after fifteen minutes outside of Seattle Grace's walls. He's the only one that really understands what this is like for me.

"We bought you a bell," George says, and I pry my eyes away from the glaringly red stoplight to furrow my eyebrows at my driver's profile.

"You what?"

"We bought you a bell. So that you can let us know when you need us."

I can't control the grimace that forces itself onto my face, my eyes flicking shut in embarrassment.

"I don't need a bell."

"But what if you need water or a magazine or pads-"

"Okay, okay, we don't need to go there. I can get them myself, George, I'm not paralyzed."

"Yeah, but the she-Shepherd said…"

"I don't care what the she-Shepherd said," I snap, maybe a little too coldly, "I can walk down the stairs to get food and stuff. Bed rest doesn't mean I can't get out of bed at all."

"Technically…"

My eyes turn back to the road where the colors have changed. The cars behind us are honking.

"Drive, George."

He slams on the gas, making rubber squeal over asphalt while the minivan behind us turns into the other lane, passing us and giving us a not-so-pleasant hand signal.

"Why don't you just listen to your doctor? What do you have against Addison?"

"Since when are you calling her Addison?"

"Since yesterday when we invited her over to our table for lunch. She's actually really nice, once you get to know her."

George gives me a quick, pointed look while he pulls up to the curb.

"I don't want to get to know her."

I can feel his stare intensify, his eyes boring into my back while I slam the car door shut and make my way slowly, painfully towards the house.

"It's Shepherd, isn't it?" he calls from behind me, stopping me mid-step. I turn slowly, giving him a thoughtful look through the curtain of bangs falling over my eyes. There's a moment, a moment where everything starts to move in slow motion and where I know that George has been waiting to confront me for awhile. He knew, all this time, he knew and he's been waiting for me to tell him. The thing is, he doesn't look mad. He looks…confused. Like he's been trying to make sense of all this for days, avoiding talking to me and staying silent to the rest of the interns. He's known and he hasn't said anything. I nod; a quick, emotionless gesture.

"We didn't actually have lunch with her."

And just like that, the moment's gone. It slips away, out of our grasp and into our memories and we're left standing outside my house and struggling for words that will make this seem okay. Neither of us voices what we're both thinking, that this will inevitably end badly considering I've just fallen for my married boss and miscarried his child. We just stand there, lost, until Izzie throws open the door and asks us why the hell we're standing outside the house in the middle of November.

They both help me up the wooden steps leading up to my room despite my protests, each looping an arm around my waist and inclining their heads towards mine. They lower me onto my bed, too, pulling the covers up to my shoulders and each pressing their lips to my forehead. It's weird, having people you barely know suddenly become your family. I don't even know if I can remember what life was like without them anymore. I'm not entirely sure I _want_ to remember what life was like without them anymore. It's nice, having a support system when something like this happens. It's nice knowing that someone will always be there.

My phone vibrates, making a strange, murmuring sound as it grinds against the wood of my bedside table.

"Hello?"

The display tells me it's Derek and I feel a small, faint smile creep across my lips.

"_Hey."_

His voice is low and it sounds like he has a cold. I sit up as far as I can without straining my abdomen, my fingers curling around the top of my comforter. It's like back at the hospital, knowing something's wrong and not being able to stop it happening.

"What's wrong?"

"_Something's…I can't…"_

His voice is strangled and I can barely hear. I frown, repeating the question. "Derek, what's wrong?"

"_Nothing, exactly. God, why is this so hard?"_

I can picture him raking his fingers through his hair and closing his eyes tightly.

"What's hard Derek?"

"_I can't…I can't do this,"_ he breathes. I tense, feeling the knot in my stomach steadily grow, threatening to choke me.

"Oh, you're ending this."

The words are hallow and come out somewhere between a statement and a question I already know the answer to.

"_Yeah. I thought I could but…"_

"But you love Addison."

I bite my lip to keep from crying, to keep from letting a sob escape my lips. I don't want him to know how much this kills me. I mean, we haven't even gone on a date and now this?

"_No! No, Meredith it's not like that…I'm not getting back together with her. It's just this…thing… we have is too intense. I need time to breathe, to digest this. Everything happened so fast and now…"_

"Right," I murmur, brushing away the tears that have started to fall, "Right, I get it. I was kind of thinking the same thing."

My voice is so shaky that I doubt he believes a word I'm saying.

"_Mer, come on…"_

"No, I totally, completely get it." The lies are coming faster now, easier. "If I were you, I'd do the same thing."

"_Listen-"_

"Bye, Derek," I manage to spit out, not waiting for his reply before hanging up. I collapse into the sobs I've been suppressing as soon as I drop my phone back onto the bedside table, letting my shoulders shake and taking in ragged, unstable breaths.

Through the spider web of tears welling up in my eyes my hand feels blindly around the objects resting next to my phone. My hands fall on cold brass and I pick up the bell that Izzie and George got for water or magazines or pads. I let the clear, sharp sound fill the room and wait for the pound of footsteps up the stairs. While it may not be as crucial as pads, this crisis is definitely more important.

**AN: So Meredith's going to get kind of depressed after this, just a warning. Next chapter I'll explain (from Derek's POV so don't get confused) why he did what he did. **

**Review!!!**


	13. Ending It

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

_Derek's POV_

The hospital is cruel without her in it. The walls are mocking me and the interns are shooting me glares that leave me feeling guilty and more alone than I've ever felt, more alone than when I walked in on Addison and Mark. O'Malley corners me by the nurse's station after his rounds, giving me a short lecture about how I broke her and I have to be the one to fix her.

I tell him that he shouldn't yell at his superior, afraid to admit that he's right.

I don't blame her friends, it's good that they're there for her while she's…recovering. I just wish it could be me who's there for her, me who's telling her that everything will be okay. I could be; I know I could be. I'm just one phone call away from fixing her. One phone call away from being happy, or at least something resembling happy.

It wasn't even my decision to break it off with her, not really, and that's probably why this is so hard. Because I trusted everyone else's opinion above my own.

_I pull out my cell from the pocket of my scrubs and scroll through my list of contacts to find my mother. Meredith's just been released, something that I had been anticipating since she was admitted, something that finally allowed me to share the news. The news that I was happy again, that I'd found someone again. _

_Halfway through our conversation, though, I realize that it probably isn't going to go as well as I'd hoped. _

"_She killed your child?" she interrupts scathingly before I have a chance to list Meredith's more favorable qualities. _

"_Not exactly, Mom, but-"_

"_No. Absolutely not. I won't let you throw away what you have with Addison for an _intern_! This girl is obviously confused and unhappy! She doesn't need you complicating things. Let her go, Derek, it's what's best for both of you."_

"_Mom, she's perfect for me."_

"_Maybe. But your not perfect for her. She needs something stable, something that will keep her from getting worse. You can't give her that."_

"_She needs me."_

"_No. You want her."_

_The line clicks dead, and I had frown for a minute before unlocking the door and stepping back out to return to work. My mother's words rattle me, rattle me so much that I find myself knocking on the Chief's door. Knocking on the Chief's door so that I can push the rest of my surgeries until tomorrow. _

"_This is because of Grey's release, isn't it?" he asks calmly, weaving a pen back and forth between his fingers while I wait nervously in the chair in front of his desk for his verdict. I feel like I'm on trial. _

"_No, sir, this is…other things."_

"_Such as?"_

_I let out a small, desperate sigh._

"_I just need to take the day off. A day off that I haven't asked for since I got here."_

"_I've heard things, Shepherd, things that can't let me give you the day off."_

"_Now you're relying on rumors?"_

"_Derek, I'm concerned. This…relationship…will destroy both of you, most of all her. You can't commit to her, not with the history you have. Not to mention the professional gap."_

"_I don't see how this applies to my request."_

_He runs a hand over his smooth head, closing his eyes._

"_I don't want to do this, Derek. But you don't give me a choice. This has gone too far. A _pregnancy_? I brought you here to be Chief after I'm gone. If you continue to see Meredith, I'm going to have give Chief to someone else."_

_The anger flashes, sharp and unexpected, my face flushing and my fists clenching. _

"_Richard, everyone in this hospital has a personal life. I don't understand why mine is under inspection."_

"_You did this, Derek. You put me in this position as soon as Grey became pregnant."_

"_That has nothing to do with this!"_

"_It does, Derek. We have rules. Rules that need to be followed. You should have come to me."_

"_I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. But this is ridiculous! You're asking me to choose between Meredith Grey and Chief!"_

"_Yes," he answers simply, reclining back in his chair and giving me a stern look, "I'm asking you to choose between Meredith Grey and becoming Chief." _

_I close the door to the Chief's office, hearing the small, almost inaudible click and rummaging through my scrub pockets yet again. His words echo in my mind, taunting me. I don't want to do this, but he's right. This is why I came. This is why I moved to Seattle. _

"Hello?"_ she says, sounding exhausted and nervous and happy. _

"_Hey," I choke out, surprised at the strange voice that escapes. _

"What's wrong?"

_How can she tell? How can she know so much about me after knowing me for less than two months? _

"_Something's…I can't…" The words won't come. This feels wrong, like I'm cheating myself out of something really good. _

"Derek, what's wrong?"

"_Nothing, exactly. God, why is this so hard?"_

"What's hard Derek?"

"_I can't…I can't do this." _

_The words aren't enough, not nearly enough to make her understand, but they're all I can come up with, they're all my mouth is willing to spit out. _

"Oh, you're ending this."

_It's so matter-of-fact, the way this conversation is going. There's no emotion, no tears. Just us, tricking ourselves into believing that this is what we should be doing. _

"_Yeah. I thought I could but…"_

"But you love Addison."

_She doesn't get it, that Addison and I have nothing to do with this. Addison and I are over. _

"_No! No, Meredith it's not like that…I'm not getting back together with her. It's just this…thing… we have is too intense. I need time to breathe, to digest this. Everything happened so fast and now…" My voice breaks off before I can say everything I need to say. Somehow my brain is having trouble communicating with my lips. _

"Right. Right, I get it. I was kind of thinking the same thing."

_I know what she's doing. I know what she's doing and I want to stop, I want to tell her I made a mistake, we should start something. I want to, but it's too late. _

"_Mer, come on…"_

"No, I completely get it. If I were you, I'd do the same thing."

"_Listen-"_

"Bye, Derek."

_The line clicks dead for the second time today and I have to lean against the wall while I gulp down deep breathes of air and struggle against the glint of moisture in the corners of my eyes. _

We're over, and it's completely, undoubtedly my fault.

**AN: Like? Don't like? Let me know…**


	14. Losing Control

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

_Two weeks later…_

The glass in front of me is empty, as unabashedly empty as the bottle resting a few feet to my left, as blissfully empty as my mind.

Izzie and George are still afraid to come into my room-something about not knowing what to say- so no one's there to tell me to stop, that I'm overreacting again, that I should give up tequila before I get admitted into the same hospital I've been avoiding for the past two weeks, the hospital that currently holds the cause of my emotional dive to something that I lovingly refer to as rock bottom.

The last time this happened was in college, after an emotional break-up and another one of my mother's long, cold absences. I turned to tequila and sleep, forgetting about making friends and enjoying college for what it was. The only thing that brought me out of it was the goal, the want, the _need_ to become a doctor. I had to become a doctor, had to so I could finally win my mother's approval. I threw myself into my work, spending hours and hours on a short three page paper, willing it to be perfect; perfect so that my life wouldn't have to be. I can still remember sipping out of my Dixie cup of tequila, breathing a sigh of relief at the pages resting on the edge of my bedside table, ignoring the gentle warnings from my roommate telling me that I shouldn't drink because we had a test tomorrow.

Knuckles drum against the wood of my door and I groan loudly, partly because my head's spinning and partly because I want them to go away. I can't be around happy people right now, and Izzie and George undoubtedly fall into that category. I don't ask them to come in, instead I feign sleep and telepathically will them away.

They come in anyway, and I don't bother to turn my head towards the door.

I keep staring sullenly at the empty shot glass in front of me.

"Meredith?" George says, hesitating in the doorway, "do you need anything before my shift starts?"

I shake my head.

"How's the pain?"

"Fine."

"I'll leave your meds by the counter, just in case…you know, it gets bad."

He doesn't notice the bottle, and I'm a little bit grateful. An idea sparks, once he's left, an idea that could be the end of my problems, the end of regretting every decision I've made since I found out I was pregnant. The end of regretting the appointment on Thursday morning, the end of regretting the bar. The end of _wanting_ to regret Derek.

I nod, although he's already gone. I sigh, turning onto my back and hearing the small clink of glass on glass. Tequila in bed probably wasn't the best idea, especially since I've started to hate the bottle; the smell, the taste. I hate it because it reminds me of what I did.

I push the idea away, partly because I know that it's not worth it, and partly because I'm too weak. I'm too weak to have a baby at the height of my career, and I'm too weak to take the small bottle of pills, resting on the counter downstairs. If I had tears left, I'd cry them. I'd let them roll down my face, let them drip down my nose. I'd let them fall on the pillow in this dark room, while Izzie and George argue about what to do with me downstairs. I'd let the sobs shake my body, let them clench my stomach and make me nauseous. I'd cry for Derek, and my mother, and the baby that I didn't have the nerve to keep.

I hear faint rustlings downstairs while George and Izzie pull on their coats and talk in murmured, urgent whispers. When the door shuts and the silence starts, I let sleep take over again.

--

_Regular POV _

"Do you think she's OK?" George asks, fingering the edge of his light blue scrub cap next to Izzie in the gallery after a particularly grueling surgery.

"She was just dumped by her boyfriend, George. And she miscarried her baby. And when she gets back to work, everyone will be talking about her."

"Right."

He opens his mouth as if to add something but quickly snaps his lips back shut, forming them into a thin line. Izzie lays a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"She'll be fine, George."

"Promise?"

She nods, smiling playfully at his puppy-dog eyes.

"You should tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"That you like her."

"Wha..? I don't-" he stutters to his best friends back as she pushes past him towards the lit doorway. He wants to go after her and try to convince her that her accusations are completely off-base, but he knows that she wouldn't believe him anyway.

He sinks onto the top bench, letting his head roll back to rest on the wall, pushing away the pang of emotion that flares up whenever he thinks of Meredith, curled underneath her comforter, struggling against tears.

--

_Meredith's POV_

The sun filters through the blinds and I wince at the sudden light, throwing an arm up and over my face. Next time I feel the need to polish off a bottle of tequila alone I should remember what it's like the morning after. I have to go to work in twelve hours, I realize, after a casual glance at the glowing red numbers on my bedside table. My stomach growls loudly, a low, rumbling sound that reminds me that I've eaten barely anything since my last phone call. _The _phone call. My eyes, I'm sure, are red-rimmed and twice their normal size and my hair is stringing and lank, because I haven't had the energy to shower lately. I'm planning on avoiding the mirror for the rest of the morning, if not the rest of the week.

I roll over onto my side, coughing hoarsely and closing my eyes tightly against the head rush. I try not to think about the hospital, or her, or _him_. I try not to think of how thin I look in the mirror, my ribs jutting out underneath skin stretched too far. I try not to think of all the whispers and stares, of Addison's kind, antagonistic face waiting for me at the end of one of those brightly lit hallways. I drag my sheet with me when I stumble out of bed, headed for the bathroom.

I cough again, a hacking wet cough that lasts for far longer than it probably should. I don't worry, though, it's happened before.

**AN: This is totally another filler. **

**Sorry I haven't updated for like…a week. But I'm kinda busy with the end of high school and all(my parents are cracking the whip!!) But review and maybe I'll be inspired and write another ten chapters. **

**Maybe. **


	15. Work

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

I'm back at work. Or, at least, I'm trying to be. The whispers haven't started yet, but I guess that's probably because I haven't exactly gotten the courage to take the few steps separating outside from in. George is in there, and Izzie and Christina. _He's_ in there, probably with his wife attached loosely to one arm. He's happy, I tell myself, he's happy without me. I sigh over-dramatically, coughing into the sleeve of shirt before taking the hesitant steps forward into the hospital.

It's just like high school, when I enter the locker room. The only difference between then and now is that I care more now. Ten years ago I would have scoffed and moved on, but now I'm well aware of my emotional vulnerability.

The last time I was here I was a patient, and now I was expected to be a doctor again. A doctor with no insecurities and no dark and twisty thoughts. A doctor that I am most definitely not.

In the locker room before rounds, after I've finally gathered the courage to step inside, I hear voices. Voices that sound suspiciously like their gossiping about me.

"_Did you hear that he dumped her?"_

"_Yeah, but what did she expect? I mean, he's an attending with a completely gorgeous wife! Why __wouldn't__ he dump her?"_

"_I just don't understand why he was going out with her in the first place."_

"_She's hot."_

"_Yeah, but she could ruin his career…"_

"_I feel sorry for her. She miscarried __and__ she was dumped in the space of like- three days."_

"_She did it to herself- she __chose__ to go after an attending. It wasn't like he threw himself on her or anything."_

"Meredith?" Someone calls softly from behind me, a gentle hand resting on my shoulder. George. "Are you okay?"

"Been better," I mumble, shrugging off his touch and reaching for my scrubs.

"If you need anything…"

"I'll let you know."

"Right."

He throws me a wary glance before shifting his attention to his pager, which has begun to beep incessantly.

"Go," I say, following his gaze, "I'm fine."

"That's what worries me," He says, so low I can barely hear him.

I slam my locker harder than I probably should, furrowing my eyebrows and taking off for the pit.

--

I didn't think he'd actually be here. I mean, of course I knew he would be here, but I didn't expect him to be _here_, in the elevator, actively ignoring my presence. Every time I get up the nerve to sneak a sidelong glimpse in his direction, he's staring down the elevator door, pretending he doesn't see. He looks overwhelmingly guilty, wringing his hands together and shifting his weight awkwardly.

"Where's your wedding ring?" I blurt, the words flying out before I can stop them.

He looks down, as if just remembering that it wasn't there.

The silence is suffocating.

"I pawned it," he says finally, still not meeting my eyes.

"I thought…"

"I pawned it," he repeats, firmer, as if convincing himself.

"But you and Addison…"

The questions keep coming, half-hearted ones that trail off sluggishly.

"I didn't choose her."

"Oh."

Beat.

"But you didn't choose me," I find myself saying in a voice that doesn't sound entirely like me.

He sighs, as if this is more hard for him than it is for me. Red spider webs of anger spread onto my cheeks, sudden and unexpected. Before I know it I'm lecturing him in a high-pitched shrill of a tone, bordering on neurotic.

"You don't get to sigh and act like this is so hard for you. _You _broke up with _me-_not the other way around. We almost had a _child _together and you pretend like you're there for me and then suddenly you're not. Obviously you didn't care about me at all so don't act like you did. Don't act like I was the one who messed this up."

He opens his mouth and clamps it closed again, pursing his lips as the doors slide open. He gets off at my floor, following me down a corridor and dragging me into an empty on-call room by the elbow. People are staring, huddling together and whispering to each other, pointing; but I'm too focused on his hand on my arm to notice.

"What?" I hiss, fully aware of how close together we are.

"I didn't…" he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, "I didn't want to do that to you. Especially now…after everything…"

"You did," I say, simply, crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously and looking down at the floor petulantly.

"I know."

I pause, waiting for an explanation that doesn't come.

"Well?" I prompt, "Why'd you do it?"

His mood changes suddenly; his posture straightens out and he seems to snap out of the trance of confusion that he was in before.

"I can't do this."

With a breath of air, he's gone, leaving me alone next to an empty hospital bed, hearing the forceful click from the door coming from somewhere behind me.

**AN: Review!!!**


	16. Probably Pneumonia

**Disclaimer; I don't own Grey's.**

The coughing fits are becoming more frequent now, so frequent that Bailey's noticed and ordered me to see Izzie for a consult. I feel dizzy while I'm struggling down the blinding hallways, so dizzy that I almost want to collapse onto the floor now, just to sleep. But then I think of the adjustable bed and paper pillows and I force my eyes open to focus on something, anything.

The middle of my first shift back at work and I'm already the patient again.

Izzie's waiting by the time I finally make it to the room where we've agreed to meet. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, a half-filled chart held in one hand and the other supporting her weight from behind her back. She glances up, her face frustratingly professional.

"How long has this been going on?" she asks, her words clipped and her eyes unreadable.

I don't want to get close to her, because this is a different Izzie, this is Dr. Stevens; medical intern at Seattle Grace. I settle for leaning against the wall, looking longingly towards the bed.

"Is this really necessary? We _live_ together for god's sakes."

She throws me a wary, distrustful glance from over the top of my patient's chart.

"You know as well as I do that when Bailey tells us to do something, we do it."

"Fine. It's been happening since the day I got home from the hospital."

"_I can't…I can't do this."_

"Do you have any other symptoms? Chest pain? Fever? Sleepiness?"

"_Yeah. I thought I could but…"_

I look up, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, my mind split, watching two different scenes unfold. My voice answers, but I'm still reliving the phone call and it's like I have a twin who's speaking for me.

"You think I have pneumonia?"

"Possibly."

"_It's just this…thing… we have is too intense. I need time to breathe, to digest this. Everything happened so fast and now…"_

"Izzie, stop treating me like a patient and more like an intern."

"You _are_ a patient," she insists, "so give me your symptoms or I'm calling an attending."

"Fine. No chest pain, a fever yesterday, I'm tired constantly, and I coughed up blood a couple of times in the last three days."

There's a silence, a silence where it finally dawns on her that I've known, that I've known and I haven't told anyone. She gives me a look, a look that's hurt and compassionate and understanding, a look that makes me want to burst into tears. A look that dissolves her cold professionalism.

"Look, it's not because I was suicidal or anything," I say, desperate to get that look off of her face, "I just didn't want him to come back for…"

"To come back because you're sick? Jesus, Mer, you know how dangerous pneumonia can be."

The room spins from where I am, propped up against the hospital wall and closing my eyes to will the dizziness away. I can't handle this, not now.

"I know…" I can't finish, the words choke in my throat, giving in to the overpowering feeling of vertigo beginning to take over.

Izzie understands, she crosses the room in three steps, just in time for me to slump into her arms. She kicks open the door, calling for help and dragging me towards the bed. My eyes flutter halfway between open and closed, my hands shaking lightly.

"I'm okay…Iz, I'm okay."

"Of course you're not okay. You just collapsed and you most likely have pneumonia. Now do you want to continue playing doctor or are you ready to finally be the patient again?"

"Patient," I mumble grudgingly, my eyes slipping closed with exhaustion.

"Meredith, can you stay awake a little longer? I need to do a blood test."

"Mhmm."

Everything's blurry when I pry open my eyes again, like I'm in a dream or underwater. I see the tip of the syringe, but not the rest of the needle and I see the curve of Izzie's hand, but not her arm. It's like I've suddenly become near-sighted, unable to focus on anything more than a few feet away. I feel the barely-there sting from the needle and the light swish of Izzie's scrubs as she moves to the other side of the bed.

"I'm going to get this down to the lab and I'll be back in a couple minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

I roll onto my side, tucking one trembling hand underneath my cheek in a feeble attempt to control it.

"Do you want me to get anyone?"

The unspoken question is there, and I mentally substitute 'anyone' with 'him' as I know she's probably doing.

"Christina."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Meredith, he'll find out eventually."

"That doesn't mean I have to tell him."

"Meredith…" she pleads.

I give in, mostly because the hurt, compassionate, understanding look is firmly back in place.

"I'll tell him later, I promise."

She nods, disappearing into the fog of background colors as she ducks out into the hall.

**AN: Review!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	17. Definitely Pneumonia

_Regular POV_

She stretches out in one of the nurse's chairs, feet up on the desk and biting a pen distractedly as she contemplates whether or not to tell McDreamy that dark and twisty is sick. Really sick. The chair twirls, the by-product of a subconscious debate about whether or not to meddle. A debate that presently was leaning heavily towards the angle that could cost her a friendship, not to mention a house. The pen cracks under the pressure, the cap snapping off and skidding across the tile before becoming caught underneath a strangely familiar tennis shoe.

Her eyes travel up slowly, like in a cartoon, guiltily clashing with blue.

"I was just coming to talk to you," she manages, tossing the pen onto the desk in front of her and lifting her feet off of the desk in one fluid motion.

"Good. Because I was just coming to talk to you. Bailey said that Meredith was in a consult with you?"

"Yes. She doesn't want me to tell you, mainly because you broke up with her, but I'm ignoring her request and letting you know that the test results came back and she has pneumonia."

He lets out a breath of air and runs a shaky hand through his hair.

"You're sure?"

Izzie nods, "She's had the symptoms since she got back from the hospital but…"

"Damn it," he mutters, "This is my fault."

"Yes. Which is why I'm telling you; so that you can convince her that she doesn't need to kill herself to make a point."

He cringes at her word choice.

"Where is she?"

"Third floor. Room 315."

"Thanks. I know she'll probably give you hell later on but…"

"Yeah, about that. If you get back together with her, could you put in a good word? I really don't want to have to find an apartment."

One corner of his lips stretches into a weak half-smile.

"Definitely."

"Good," she pauses, looking up at him ruefully, "Well? Aren't you going to go?"

He nods, slipping out of his apparent daydream and leaving Izzie to decide how she was going to deal with a bad-tempered, possibly-health-endangered Meredith Grey.

--

His shoes slap dully against the tile and his eyes squint to read the numbers on each door.

He should know by now where room 315 is, he's been here more than two weeks and he's had patients in this room before.

The women behind the counter of the nurse's station are throwing him strange, confused looks but he ignores them. He knows that he must look less-than-perfect, with the number of times he's threaded his fingers through his hair and the number of thoughts he's had about one particular intern. He knows that people will start to talk again, regardless of whether or not they're actually together.

Eventually he sees it on the left hand side of the hallway, the door open. He swears he can smell her lavender shampoo when he knocks lightly, testing the water before he starts to take the few, painfully cautious steps forward.

Her head snaps to face him as soon as his shoe meets tile.

"Izzie told you," she says, her voice flat and emotionless.

"Izzie told me."

She turns to look out the window.

She has an IV in her left arm and four blankets covering up to her collarbone. She's even more pale than usual, and she looks like she's about to drift back asleep.

"The test results came back. I'm on antibiotics…"

He nods, automatically reaching for her chart. She lets out a long, wet cough and he glances at her briefly over the chart.

"Aspiration Pneumonia?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He nods again, feeling awkward and almost like he shouldn't be here.

"Right. Well, I'm just going to…"he starts to back away, and either doesn't notice nor care when her face falls.

"Go? Then why come in the first place?"

He closes his eyes for a second, pausing with one hand resting lightly on the door frame.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"So that's it? You just expect me to let you come and go whenever you want?"

"I didn't go back to Addison, Meredith."

"It doesn't matter. You broke it off with me with no explanation, and that means that you don't get to 'make sure I'm okay'."

"I know. But I needed to know if you did this because of what happened."

"What do you mean, this?" She shoots back innocently.

"You know what I mean."

"I did 'this' because I hate being the patient. It had nothing to do with you."

"Meredith…"

"Derek," she warns. He nods again, as if surrendering.

She blinks, snuggling further down under her pile of fabric and coughing again into her the crook of her elbow, watching while he silently disappears back into the hallway, his lab coat whispering to her after he's gone.

**AN: I don't really like this chapter but oh well. Let me know what you think. **

**P.S. sorry I haven't updated in awhile…again, graduation is next week and yeah. **


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